A Heavy Heart & A Pen

It’s almost midnight. I’m writing this post from my favorite room in my home: my prayer room.

My heart feels heavy tonight, so I thought that I would just write it out. Is that cool with you? Ok, good.

You all know by now that I’m a lady esquire that loves Jesus. Can I share a bit of that journey with you?

I grew up in a Christian home and even attended Christian college. I knew so many facts about theology, biblical history, narrative, you name it. The one thing I didn’t know: who God was to me.

2019 was the hardest year of my life to date. Yes, 2019 was harder than 2020. Why? Professionally, I was in a very difficult place, in an environment where I could no longer grow and felt my future was in jeopardy. Personally, my marriage was dangerously close to becoming a roommate situation and I had outgrown certain friendships. My grandmother died in April the day before my birthday, I spent my birthday fighting with the funeral home. Shortly thereafter, my mother in law was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. And on top of everything, we couldn’t find a home to purchase and were faced with constant rejection. All of this happened within about 3 months (except for the work situation, that was building for close to 6 years at that point). The only bright spot during that time was my angel pup, Ben.

I was broken. I was tired. I needed help.

I went to a therapist to try to help me cope with my work situation. Three or four sessions in, I realized that if I needed a therapist just to cope this job environment, that this job environment wasn’t for me. I also realized that what was broken in me no therapist could fix. What was broken in me could only be healed by the God who made me. That being said, I want to be very, very, clear. There is nothing wrong with therapy. You can love Jesus and have a therapist too. No shame, you do what’s right for you.

So, I dragged my body to church, alone. I sat in sermon after sermon and frankly felt numb. Sunday wasn’t enough. I remembered this verse in Matthew 6:6 that says: But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

I took that verse quite literally and dragged my body to the only room where I felt that I could get some privacy: the bathroom. I closed the door and sat on the cold, tile floor in silence and waited for God to show up. While I waited, I talked to God. I distinctly remember sitting on the floor and looking up at the mirror and telling God, “I just want to love you as much as I love my daddy”.

Y’all are going to think that I’m crazy, but that prayer caused a shift. In order to love God, I had to get to know him. No, not facts and figures. I had to know him through his word and experience him through worship. It was during this season that I grew closer to God and God grew closer to me.

As 2020 approached, I kept believing that God would send me a new job in public service. But, instead I kept receiving rejection letters. When the pandemic hit, I was tempted to feel discouraged, but I knew that God held me back in that season to bless my old boss during that season, and although it didn’t end like I had hoped, I know that I did right by God and by all those involved in that situation.

Finally, in November of 2020 God answered my prayers: I got my current job and we were in the process of buying our first home.

He was, is, and will be faithful.

So why do I feel heavy today? Idk after writing all of this it feels silly, but my heart is genuinely sad over the apathy, disdain, and arrogance of the church and the far right towards the vaccine.

It breaks my heart.

People are dying. We have a way to mitigate it. People are choosing their ridiculous beliefs over the well-being of others.

Church isn’t perfect. But God’s grace and mercy is.

Today, I choose to cling to the God whose faith and mercy is everlasting, The God that patiently chased me, loved me, taught me, corrected me. I will continue to serve and love my church and community (while wearing a mask).

So, what was the point of this long, rambling post? I’m not exactly sure. There’s something cathartic about writing your story and remembering what God delivered you from, and seasons that he walked along side you. My genuine hope is that this crisis will not bleed into yet another season, that we can work together and agree that this a human issue that requires our effort and minimal sacrifice. Until then, I have to extend grace and patience to those God has called me to love. Please, do the right thing.

Get vaccinated. Wear a mask, even if you’re vaccinated.